


A Madness Most Discreet

by ChippewaFalls



Series: Reasons [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:22:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29567448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChippewaFalls/pseuds/ChippewaFalls
Summary: There’s more to the story of Voldemort’s fall than anyone’s ever shared. A tale of traitors and lovers and rogues who’ve gone unheralded for far too long. Secret elegies that are only now being sung.An expanded story based on my 'A Valediction' drabble collection
Relationships: Regulus Black/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Reasons [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2062869





	A Madness Most Discreet

**REGULUS BLACK**

I’ll never forget that smell. The way the rain seemed to hang in the air before it even started falling. The omen the storm clouds brought with them over the dark hills that kept the land in a near constant shadow. There wasn’t anything that could be done to stop those clouds from moving in. No way to stop their torrents of rain and wind and thunder. 

This war was much of the same: An inescapable maelstrom looming closer each day.

There were those able to carry on with their lives, unaffected by the gathering storm. And then there were families like mine that put themselves in the eye of it. 

“That amount of force is simply unwarranted. You will draw unnecessary attention-”

“Any action that draws out our enemies will draw attention, is that cause enough for forfeit?”

Their arguing was never ending - as would be the war they planned to start.

It was only whispers now. Worries and hushed terror of the darkness that might one day overtake the wizarding world. 

But the battle lines had been drawn and many of our soldiers were ready to step out of the shadows, anxious to escalate the conflicts. 

They couldn’t understand the calculated way Voldemort went about his chaos, the slow tension He stirred in the people. The distrust and division that took root in the souls of those witnessing His atrocities that continued to go unanswered by the formal government. 

They wanted retribution for their mate, Nott, who’d been taken by the Aurors, and strategy was lost on their single mindedness. They saw our current tactics as cowering, and the Dark Lord had promised to set us free.

And, had I still thought freedom for wizards was His intention, I might’ve found the resolve to stay engaged in the current bickering. However, I had come to understand that in choosing to align with His cause I’d merely traded one enslavement for another. 

So I left my refuge of the window to sit again at the end of the long table; as far from the ambition of others as I could manage.  Thunder rattled through the sparsely decorated hall, an echoing reminder of how hollow a place I’d found myself. The stone walls stood so rigid that even sound couldn’t find a proper place to settle.  The light also struggled to make its presence known, only low embers dripping from the chandeliers adding to the few dreary rays of sunlight that made their way around the heavy curtains along the wall high windows. 

My eyes tracked around the table, wondering how many that stared back shared my disinterest. 

Narcissa surely did. Her eyes were focused on the leather of her gloves rather than on her sister who spoke next. 

The sisters were an odd pair to be sure; opposites in almost every facet. Narcissa had her pale hair pulled back in a tight bun, which mirrored her controlled posture and demeanor. Bellatrix, however, moved about in her seat, leaning closer to the Dark Lord at the head of the table and then adjusting again moments later. Her hair was black as the marble of the floors and fell about her shoulders in chaotic, uncontrollable curls. Her eyes stayed fixed on Voldemort. Lingering on every syllable He uttered. 

I felt my jaw tighten for a moment as a pair of piercing blue eyes turned to meet mine. Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa’s husband, must have sensed my gaze. They narrowed at me as if he were going to penetrate into my thoughts, and he was welcomed to - I had nothing to hide and nothing but apathy to offer. 

My glance moved to those who sat across the great divide of the table, to those too impulsive and reckless to worry about crafts like occlumency. Dolohov sat across from Bella, his intimidating stare fixed on the man to his left that countered his suggestions.

“That is not enough for the Order to come out of their hiding places,” spoke the hoarse tenor of the eldest Rosier. 

Evan then finished his father’s point, “Their strategy is to remain scattered, to evade and endure. A few random killings will not be enough to force them into the open.”

His mannerisms mimicked his father’s as much as his appearance always had. Both had lighter hair, but Evan had stopped trimming his so it now hung around his face in shaggy waves. They had the same hazel eyes that dulled over when you spoke to them, their minds retreating from conversations that did not pertain to them or their interests. 

The younger Rosier was the only wizard near my age who dared offer an opinion. His father’s loyalty to Voldemort was one of the oldest ties I knew of and good breeding was what purebloods rewarded. Then there was the matter of his betrothed; a union I was certain had gained him true favor as she was an important piece on the Dark Lord’s chess board. 

In any case, they were correct. The Order of the Phoenix had been growing in support since our attacks became more visible, and we weren’t ever able to accurately presume their numbers. They didn’t possess the arrogance of Death Eaters to gather in a crowd as we were now. 

Before I could dwell longer in the agitation of seeing such pride on Evan’s face, there was a snicker from the pair that sat across from me. 

One of them must’ve muttered an insult under their breath, but whether Wilkes or Avery had delivered the line was anyone’s guess. Neither was likely to be paying anymore attention to the debate than I had been; their motivations resided in more singular objectives. Hurt. Hate. Kill. 

They waited for instruction. For orders to carry out and destruction to cause, like starved dogs ready to hunt. I, on the other hand, leaned back in my chair, exhausted at the simple thought of rising from my place should this gathering ever find its resolution. 

Where was Sev? 

My fellow Slytherin was one of the few tolerable people at these gatherings and he’d left me here with only Avery and Wilkes and their minimal vocabulary to converse with. 

“Ah!” The Dark Lord clapped His hands together and snapped my attention. 

I had spent so much of that afternoon observing the others that I’d almost missed the way His skin had grown even more pale in the recent weeks. His appearance seemed to ebb and flow with our failures, as if the act of terror was what gave Him life and the growing faith of the Order’s resistance drained it away.

A moment of hope sparked in my chest, believing that He was putting an end to the cyclical strategizing, but that spark was drowned out as he opened his arms in a greeting, “Mina, my darling.” 

Everyone’s heads turned to the open window where a raven had landed. It crowed into the now silent hall, the sound echoing off the hard cold floors and barren walls. Then it leapt back into the air and pulled its wings into itself, spinning into a haze until a woman emerged from the cloud. 

Feathers billowed away into long black waves that rippled down her back, covering the zig-zag scar on her shoulder she refused to discuss. Claws stretched out into fingers with perfectly manicured nails that I could still feel dragging across my chest. 

She sauntered forward. A long black cloak cascaded off her shoulders before trailing behind her. It dragged along the marble until she stopped at the chair beside Evan, sitting gracefully and turning her attention to the head of the table. 

Her lips, painted like wine, curled into a warm smile. “Apologies, my Lord.”

“We are in debate.” His own lips twisted into a smile to match hers. “A show of force, or continue our quiet rebellion?”

Mina’s eyes tracked about the room, most people attempted to avoid her gaze. She had such grace to her movements for someone carrying the weight of her ancestry in every gesture. Many of us would boast of our pureblood status, some even claimed the label  _ sacred.  _ The Shafiq lineage, however, predated them all. It was believed that the blood that ran through her veins helped build what were now the ruins in Persepolis. That the blood was shed at Thermopylae, standing against the Spartans and conquering Egypt more than once.    
  
Her olive skin and strong cheekbones were reminders that her heritage was different from these wizards who had never left their island. Her magic was rooted in antiquity, something unknown, something to fear.   
  
But she wasn’t unknown to me. I met her almond-shaped eyes, if only for a brief moment before she turned her attention back to Voldemort. 

“The Order has found comfort after Nott’s arrest. They believe they can root us out, my Lord.” Her dark irises shot across to Dolohov with a challenge. “I agree that a show of force is necessary to instill the proper fear of the masses. To end any recruitment they may attempt on the heels of their shallow victory.”

Voldemort nodded slowly, tapping His slender fingers against the table as they watched one another for a minute longer. Neither spoke a word the rest of us could hear, but the conversation continued regardless. 

Finally, His fingers ended their melody and He turned to the dark haired wizard beside him, whispering lower than I could hear. Then He rose and retreated toward the back rooms, with Bella and the elder Rosier following after Him. 

Avery and Wilkes nearly ran to Dolohov, ensuring their part in whatever atrocity had just been ordered. 

Evan turned around to face the woman beside him, reaching for her hand. 

“Quite the entrance, love.” He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it.   
  


“I have not slept in days, Evan.” She pulled her hand back, twisting the diamond on her finger back and forth with her thumb before running a hand through her onyx waves. “I’ve little patience for your wounded pride.”

She rose to leave, but he stood and took hold of her arm, pulling her closer before leaning in to whisper against her ear. 

Her eyes met mine over his shoulder and it took all of my concentration to keep my mind empty of the reactive thoughts that wanted to consume me. 

My jaw tightened at the sound of her soft voice in the back of my mind. Like a memory of her familiar whisper reaching into my void.  _ “Tomorrow, _ ” it promised, “ _ Kennsington. _ ”

My stomach twisted at the way he gripped her, sickened by the way he thought he could collect her power by collecting her. But I was too aware of her agency in the situation to counter the interaction.   
  


She was safer behaving as if she were his trinket. His hubris blinded him to the truth and underestimating her would be his undoing; it would be the undoing of us all. 

I rose from my seat, the sound of wood scratching against the stone floor disrupting whatever threats he was attempting. She shook her arm free as his attention turned to me. 

“Regulus.” His deep voice boomed, an attempt at asserting power he didn’t have, “We’ll need as many wands as we can muster to carry out the plans my father has - surely we can rely on the noble House of Black to help see them through?”

“Of course.” I answered plainly. “I’m eager to begin.” Then I bowed my head in salutation before meeting Mina’s eyes once more. “Patience has never been my strength.”

* * *

I threw my jacket over the dining chair before putting the kettle on. 

“Anything of import discussed this morning?” my flatmate’s voice asked from his spot at the desk in the corner. “I feel I already know the answer, but am duty bound to still ask the question.”

He was sitting before a pile of paperwork, sorting through the different parchments. His black hair hung about his face like curtains he’d drawn to keep out prying eyes, but his angular features poked out from behind them when he tousled with the pages.    
  
My glance tracked from his well kept desk to the mess of clothes and dishes that had been abandoned about the flat. It was a modest space. Much smaller than my parents home at Grimmauld Place and a mere speck compared to the grandeur of the Shafiq Estate Voldemort had taken as a residence. Still, it was mine and so very few things were anymore.

“Evan’s taken to his new place on a pedestal.” I opened a cabinet to pull out two mugs as the kettle began to whistle. “Has me looking forward to his eventual fall back down to the rest of us meager mortals.”

Severus chuckled to himself but also sat up a bit straighter. He had as little patience for the likes of men like Rosier as I did. Though, in some ways, he probably added me into that bunch. 

He wasn’t like the rest of us, raised in privilege and pampered by a glorified lineage. Everything he had he had earned, including my respect and trust. 

I sat a mug of tea at the top of the desk, away from the delicate parchments he continued sorting through. His fingers were stained black from handling so much ink and drew a stark contrast from his otherwise pallid complexion. 

“Did you get into the basements again?” 

He sat up a little straighter after reaching for the mug and taking a sip, allowing himself the momentary break. 

“They’ve not even noticed the lock was tampered with.” His terse tone dripped with contempt for the Ministry filled with too many born into their position. 

Severus took a job at the Ministry immediately after finishing school, working now as an archivist. He couldn’t dedicate his life to the Dark Lord’s cause like those of us living off trusts and inheritance, spending mornings in senseless debate for the sake of our own pride - but working for the government had brought opportunities Voldemort wouldn’t have otherwise thought to reach for. 

He formed an intricate information network, passing information back and forth with Unspeakables like Rookwood. However, the most valuable alliance made was with Barty. His father oversaw the entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement and his friendship with Severus provided constant updates on who the ministry suspected of crimes and which attacks they were choosing to investigate. 

“You’re only torturing yourself.”

My eyes flicked up from staring at the rug beneath my feet where a wine stain used to be embedded within the fibers.

“Meaning what precisely?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest and pretending I hadn’t just been thinking of her wine colored lips.

“Torture. It means to inflict suffering or pain. Like pining for a woman who does not reciprocate your affections.”

He didn’t even bother to look up as he taunted me.

“Thanks for that, professor,” I scoffed, retreating to my bedroom before he could search my mind any further.

I let the door shut loudly behind me so my anger was understood before falling onto the bed and staring up at the ceiling. 

I let out a deep breath, trying to calm the wrath that wanted to overtake all my other thoughts. Languishing over the way Mina’s head tilted into Rosier’s whisper. The thought of the two of them tangled together, his lips tracing over her curves. 

What did Severus know of pining? And what did he know of unrequited affections?   
  


But what did I know?


End file.
